Love is a scary thing. To give yourself away to someone, putting all your faith that it's not in vain. you never know their motives, nor do they know yours. I've learnt to lie with a strait face and what has it gotten me? An ambiguous life, equivocal nature. A complex web of half truths, with no intention of lying. This life gets to us all, tormented innocence turning cold. I can't believe that love is a splendorous thing, it's hard to imagine, in this disgusting tainted world, a salvation by the name of "love". 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. No one wants to be alone in this world. We grapple and cling to a chance at happiness, no matter the price.
Don't give up. I'm only starting to see the gravity of your situation. the extent of your damnation. In short I don't blame you for your frivolous disposition. I blame myself for not being enough to change it. That came out wrong. I can't, nor do I want to, change you. I just wish I was insentive enough to make you wish to change. Or maybe change is non-existant. I want you to grow. You're playing a static and stagnant role whilst I am flourishing and thriving. I know I'm not the same as I was when we were first in love, but the change is amplified relative your inert stance. I've always cared about you, but that too has been altered by the hand of circumstance. I've known countless feelings for you, attachment, love, lust, caring, anguish, concern. I've always felt something for you. Now it's stronger than ever before. No more silly juvenile notions of "love". I care for you like a sister, a mother, a lover, a friend. You say you don...
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